When the Night Comes
Something happened to me when I got home from Africa.
Like many young westerners, I had packed up my belongings and headed east to spend 3 weeks in a third world country. Mostly, I suppose, because I thought they needed me.
And like many young westerners who travel east, I wasn’t prepared for the reality of a place where everything was different. Where nothing made sense. Where one could get lost in the dust, the despair, the depravity.
And I did get lost. I got lost in the seemingly exponential problem facing the people in Kenya. I got lost in my brain’s futile attempt to reconcile my life with theirs. I got lost in my understanding of where the gospel fit in, or how I could possibly be of any use to Africa.
I knew they needed much, but suddenly I didn’t know if they needed me.
So when I was back on home soil, in the sudden comfort of my own home, with the food, security and abundance I daily take for granted, I felt shell-shocked; my jet lag mixing with hopelessness.
Luckily I knew just how to deal with it. After about a week of re-reading my journals, studying statistics, and dreaming of the last 3 weeks, I came to the conclusion that I could not make a difference.
Kenya did not need me, Africa did not need me.
So I buried it. I buried all of it. The IDP camps, the slums, the children, the injustice. I buried the diseases, poor living conditions, inadequate school systems and dirty water. I buried Kioko, Irene, Antony, Mbaruku. I buried it because I could not wrap my mind around how to help, I could no longer wrap my arms around these people.
Months later I had the opportunity work with a social entrepreneurship firm called The Brave which had been commissioned by the United Nations Foundation and the One Campaign to create a film called When the Night Comes. When I watched it for the first time, and the familiar images of the land, the people, the problems flashed on the screen, something in me became unglued. Everything I buried started to come back to the surface.
Something in my heart responded the call to action at the end of the film. It answered that haunting question I came back with that said, “What can you possibly bring to the table? What can you possibly do?”. It said that what they needed most from me was my voice. My story. That by signing a petition, I could combat one of the deadliest villains to prey upon Africa: malaria.
Suddenly I realized I had been wrong. Africa did need me. And more so than I could have imagined.
I learned that malaria kills over 1 million people a year and nearly one child every 30 seconds. Those numbers are staggering, those facts are unbelievable. But I realized that I’m not allowed to just bury this.
God requires that I not bury this. He says in Isaiah 58:9-10 – ”If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.”
So it’s our job care and it’s our job to do something. And this is one simple thing we can do. We can use our voices to bring awareness to this disease and its devastating effects on all aspects of life in Africa.
We can make a difference. Because I do believe that Africa needs me. And I believe Africa needs you too.
For more information on the ‘When the Night Comes’ film and campaign, please visit www.whenthenightcomes.com or email lyndsay@thebrave.tv
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Lyndsay is a freelance writer based in Nashville, TN. She is dedicated to social justice, storytelling and exotic cheeses. You can see more of her work at her blog: www.lyndsights.com
